


Tabula Rasa

by moz17



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 22:03:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1363321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moz17/pseuds/moz17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A piece imagining what would have happened if Jakes and Morse had met at a party, years before joining the police...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tabula Rasa

Endeavour had grown to dislike the college parties which took place nearly every night, unrelentingly. At least down the pub there wasn't a scratchy record player, repeatedly and tinnily blaring the limited selection of music in the host's possession. 

He had come to the party in Wadham College, having only the slightest of connections to the student throwing the shindig. Endeavour hadn't any intention of taking him up on the throwaway invitation issued as they left their afternoon lecture. Yet when he found himself in his rooms once again with only his coursebooks for company, he couldn't settle to any sustained reading. The deciding factor had been that he had exhausted his booze supply. There was always free drink to be had at student parties; whether it was good or not was another question.

He moved through the mass of bodies crushed into the small rooms. Another aspect of student parties he detested- too many people, all chattering and airing flimsy opinions. They all dressed in some teenage imitation of what was considered cool, the current Parisian trend. Most of them wore black, smoked too-strong cigarettes and did their best to appear artfully messy. He had no patience for such poses, indeed he could hardly stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

He worked his way through the room, in continued search of beer, at the very least. Whiskey, if he was lucky. He pushed open a door. He had almost given up on finding any alcohol and he needed some space from this mob if he couldn't deaden their talk with drink. The door swung back, revealing a bedroom wonderfully empty, but for one occupant. 

"Oh, Christ, shut that door before anyone else comes in here." 

The room was a tip, a typical student lair, the bed in disarray, a montage of pictures stuck to the wall and books piled all over. A fresh breeze blew through the room. The stranger had opened the window fully and was standing beside it, smoking. He made a tall, thin outline at the side of the window, standing straight, one hand in his trouser pocket, the other angled up to his mouth, holding his cigarette. His hair was slicked back, sleek as a duck, almost oil-black in this murky light. The half-moon shone in through the open window, picking out a pale, ruthlessly angular face. Dark eyes met Endeavour's, calmly inquiring as to why he was here. 

Endeavour turned his head, jerking towards the door. "It was too crowded in there, I was looking for a bit of space...I hope I'm not intruding..." he said uncertainly. 

The other man shook his head. "I'm gatecrashing as much as you are. I have no claim to this room at all." 

He had a pleasant voice, a light drawl, playing just a little bit loose with consonants on some words. He came off sounding amused but detached.

"Do you want a cigarette?" He plucked the packet from his pocket and held it out.

Endeavour didn't smoke as a rule but anything would do when there was a lack of whiskey. 

"Thanks."

He went over to the man and took the proffered smoke. He produced a lighter out of nowhere and passed this to Endeavour as well. Only when he had taken care of his own cigarette did the man begin to talk again. 

"I can't tell whether you're a student or not."

Endeavour smiled but also frowned a little. "Oh."

"Usually can tell an Oxford student straight off."

"Do they look a certain way?"

"They do."

"And I don't."

"No, not really." 

"What does an Oxford student look like then?" 

He smiled around his cigarette. "You are a student then."

"How can you...you're just taking the piss now." Endeavour replied. The man hummed a laugh to himself.

"I'm Peter, by the way."

Endeavour hesitated. "Morse."

Peter arched an eyebrow at him. "Morse?" He blew a stream of smoke out between his lips, still focused on Endeavour. 

"Just Morse."

Peter took another drag on his cigarette. "Alright Morse."

"What about you?" he ventured.

"What about me?" The dark hair man asked. 

"You a student?" 

"What do you think?"

"That you aren't." Morse said, rather too forcefully. 

"Is it my accent? You think I don't sound like a student."

"No, not at all. I..." He was flustered by such a direct question. 

"No." Peter looked at him closely for a moment. "You wouldn't judge someone on their accent."

"Why...?"

"Anyway, no I'm not a student, you guessed right." He leaned against the wall, slouching slightly now. "Just decided I wanted to see what all the fuss is about y'know, being up at Oxford. Can't really say I'm impressed with the night life. The only thing I'm impressed with is what everyone else seems to be passing over."

"What's that?"

Peter let his gaze flit quickly over Morse's frame before turning his attention to what was outside the window. 

"The scenery." He paused. "The surroundings. Even if you're not an academic you can't help but be floored by all this." Peter gestured his cigarette holding hand out the window. Endeavour moved to stand beside Peter and followed his pointing hand. 

Oxford was beautiful, Endeavour couldn't deny it. He often tried to, sought to keep the town at arm's length and his back resolutely against it. For it was too beautiful and he wasn't used to beauty. He had only recently grown halfway comfortable with the sheer concept of beauty; but to be living in the midst of such glories was too much. Coming to Oxford had been like slipping into a photograph or a memory. Things could only be this beautiful in a photograph or a memory yet here it was: real. Well, real within these enclosed walls. Not much of a reality, some might comment. 

He could only see the outlines of the buildings against the night sky; lit lamps dotting the narrow streets below provided small circles of warm yellow light in the unchanging darkness. 

"It is quite wonderful." Morse allowed himself to say, not too worried that this man would make fun of him for talking in such a way. 

"What is it though? About Oxford, that grabs you?" He asked Peter. 

"It's not necessarily Oxford in particular. I'm just always interested in that which I'm told I can't have. It makes me want to have to, to see it, experience what it is." 

"I can understand that."

Endeavour found himself intrigued by this latter-day dandy, professing both a love of beauty and managing to be dismissive of it simultaneously. Endeavour sought beauty merely because he wanted to be around it. He believed that Peter wanted to have beauty as a form of status symbol. 

He certainly dressed well. Though clearly not the most expensive or even newest of suits, he was wearing a suit in stark contrast to all the others at the party. It fit him well and the grey shirt was nice. Morse shuffled from one foot to the other, altogether too aware of how childish his own ensemble must appear. Clothes had never played a particular role in his life before, but since coming to Oxford, he found himself having to reconsider. No-one had really ever paid enough attention for him to concern himself with how he looked. 

He turned back to Peter, banishing thoughts which threatened to make themselves felt, thoughts about the grey home he had recently left. 

"Do you want to get out of here?" Peter asked him abruptly. 

Morse raised his eyebrows, opening his eyes and mouth. 

"Well, seeing as you were avoiding the party anyway, I thought we could do that elsewhere." Peter, smoking continuously, seemed to expect Morse to respond with a 'no'. 

"Alright."

He betrayed no surprise at this answer and merely flicked the useless cigarette butt out the window. 

 

"You haven't really settled into the Oxford scene, have you?" 

"Why do you say that?" 

"Come off it, going to a party, you apparently know no-one there and prefer to hide in a dark room..."

"You were doing the same." protested Morse. 

"I have the excuse of not being a student here. What's yours?"

Morse shook his head. "I don't know. I didn't want to stay in my room but I didn't want to be at the party either."

"Careful Morse, you might miss out. It won't do you any good to stay indoors while everyone else is enjoying the other things college has to offer." 

"I have to in one way. I just like it in another." 

"And where will it take you, eh? After you spend three years, even four, mugging away at history?"

"I'm doing Greats, not history."

"You're a pedant, aren't you? You knew full well what I meant and you still had to correct me." 

They had gained access to Magdalen College's grounds, bypassing the locked gates and clambering over. They sat at the river's edge, their legs swinging over the water. The only sounds came from the gentle movement of the Cherwell or the odd burst of merriment from students passing over the bridge above them. 

"I don't know really." Morse said, only partially focused on the conversation. He was simply letting himself enjoy sharing this with someone. 

It wasn't easy talking to Peter but it did feel natural, as if the two of them had arrived to play a piece, their instruments tuned up, each phrase chasing and answering the other. That's what good conversations should be. He hadn't come across it before in Oxford. 

"I suppose I'll end up doing something respectable."

"That important to your family?"

Morse nodded, not wishing to clarify anything about his family. 

"I can understand that." Peter tilted his head back and blew a stream of smoke at the cloudy sky. The effect was quite gorgeous; the dark night and dark hair, the white skin and moon, the angles of Peter's jaw and fingers. Morse was also quite sure Peter was aware of the effect he gave.  
Peter turned to look at him and bringing his cigarette to his lips inhaled on it long and deep, never breaking his gaze with Morse.  
He exhaled, letting the smoke run across Morse's face. It was warm and silky almost, skittering across his skin, feeling and tasting and smelling so intimate. This smoky caress was followed by another as Peter leaned towards Morse and caught his lips with his own.  
This was the inevitable progression of that evening and Morse had been dimly aware of that from the moment he had seen Peter and when they had started talking. Morse was no innocent, even in matters such as this. Teenage school boys were curious and by nature, Morse was more curious than most and he had had a couple of equally curious partners. Such moments were brief and rushed. This moment lasted, and lasted, the two men surrounded only by the night, kissing. 

Peter ended the kiss, pulling back from Morse. They moved from the river's edge for fear of falling in, and settled themselves nearer the woods, laying themselves down on the grass and in the shelter of a great oak. 

Peter's kisses and touches were eager, almost too much so. Endeavour had the sense that he had done this many, many times before; had taken near perfect strangers into shaded areas to exhaust as much from them as he could before the night was over. It was not the thought of Peter having had countless encounters such as this which unsettled him. Having to imagine how Peter enacted the same ritual, without hope for a different outcome, that gnawed at him; for how else could such furtive trysts end? Endeavour was weighed down by his own mellower version of hopelessness. He did not wish to take on his companion's more frenzied hopelessness. Peter was a surging river thundering itself against a wall of rock. Endeavour had no desire to play Sisyphus and would rather be the water which was stopped by a dam, unmoving, nowhere to go but restful at least. In some other lifetime they would not have had to resort to this, to rutting against one another on the damp earth. In another lifetime they could've gone on a date. They perhaps could be friends after determining a relationship was not to be between them. But that was some utopia, centuries from now. They instead had to dart at one another like snakes, whether to tongue or posion the other, he wasn't sure. That was their only option; strike briefly and slink off. 

There was no room for them in this world. 

Tiredness settled around Endeavour as he perceived the palest lines of light glancing through the branches. He wished he could have someone he could make a home in. 

Peter's own movements began to taper off, as if he felt the change in Endeavour's attitude. Or perhaps similar thoughts were presenting themselves in his mind. He rolled off of Morse, sitting back. He reached for his cigarettes and for a moment Endeaovur saw a flash of utter emptiness in Peter's eyes. It was gone before he could fully process it yet it went through him and touched him in some tiny curled up corner, which resembled an awkward freckled boy sitting in his room alone, hoping not to be noticed but also wondering why he wasn't noticed. 

He leaned towards Peter and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. 

"I better get going." He stood stiffly and tugged his clothes into a half-hearted order. 

Peter nodded, dragging on his cigarette and offered him a small smile. "Best of luck, Morse."

And turning his back, Endeavour left the college grounds. 

 

Six years later he stood in the police station, wondering at the absurdity of life, even though he staunchily didn't believe in coincidence. 

Peter, or rather, DS Jakes turned to face him after Bright's speech.

"Tabula rasa." He drawled at Morse. 

"That's a bit cheap, isn't it?" He snapped back. 

Jakes met his gaze levelly, his eyes hooded, resembling a rattlesnake curled up and in on himself.


End file.
